Of a Monday morning

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Today it makes sense– a heart getting free. Dream not a mountain, but a plain. Dream no deer, but sheep. No stairs, but footsteps in loose dirt. Full throttle freedom postures for the sun. And yellow seeds rise.

this
noiseless noise
shines

 

 

[for dVerse]

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heap o’Pearl

But what’s left (inside)
when the finger pokes,
if the grit is gone?

I once (now)
thought of the shore
before I was twelve.

I tasted early dawn
(and believed);
What good are sand grains?

Oyster shells
which were under water
now are not —

[for Real Toads]

night

I’ve got a blanket of starlight
For the streets of the night sky
Rising up
I go walking scattering poems.
It’s how I get to tell it —-
not some dark interpretation of it.
I leave time behind for
infinite options
of my liking
of my making
Seeing who I want to see
And the adult moon, and her little dog,
And the whole pond is on the table
And this isn’t wrong

[for Real Toads]

Hello KS

how can we talk
if we haven’t got a brain?
we’re just rickety windmills
under pink ribbon chain
slicing and churning

how can we pillow
if we haven’t hugged a cloud?
we’re just damn purple cows
hem-hawing twice as loud
as the hacked crow frothing

how can we get there
if ‘there’ is a curtain?
we’re just blonde wheat waving
beyond bridges we’re certain
fell sunflowers ago

[for dVerse]

Be a good boy

Don’t scratch me
with your needs, with
your wet nose. I won’t
share a bed with you anymore.

Let me stretch
the air. Snap a clean sheet
and not think of you,
or of me licking the air anymore.

It’s going to be a day
for goodness sake —
for breathing and rolling around
nice-ish in this empty barrel.

If I grew fur, it would
surely protect me. Cushion
my exposure to language,
to polite meal worm words.

Could a rabbit get high
if you stirred a hole?
Would a pig squeal loud
if she housed my ragged soul?

Efficient is down dog;
Scientific are tongues
and submitted bellies.
Who knows what a dog dreams?

Maybe, like you. They kiss love
untucked on knees and legs,
on the pink side
of nape and palm.

Be a good boy,
and don’t hang on
to me like this.
I’m here at the library.

[Real Toads]

If you’ve ever had the pleasure

of kissing a poet,
you’d know just how
adventurous
they taste

like licking a
pen dipped in poly-
amory, or cinnamon
soup

you’d be on
intimate terms
with the one ear
they can’t hear from

which is probably
why they stockpile
the happiness of afternoons
into mornings and night falls

and why they hold your
hand both innocent and wrong
ultimately bone-crushing
against a headboard

[Real Toad inspiration— I used Solomon’s first line from her piece on Hello Poetry as my title and 1st stanza]

Walking through an upscale beach neighborhood

So I saw a lady in the Sky
When you showed me Venus
And it escaped me
What enjambment was, or
Just the word, you know? I know
It means an ending we all see
Coming, and then next thing
You know, it’s something entirely
Puzzling Like the planet
I thought was a Star— like our bodies
That are made of dust.
Like watching the sun set
And kissing so many times
I lose count, or burn my retina.